Every January, my thoughts go to Manu.
He left us on a cold January morning in 2011, and for a long time afterwards I felt lost and bewildered. I must admit that, on that fateful day, my feet faltered. I came close to giving up.
You see, Manu had been the one who showed me the way.
After the death of my parents, I had become rudderless. My heart had frozen and I no longer knew what I was meant to do with my life. It was Manu who gave me back not only the will to live, but also a reason to do something meaningful with that life—to honour the memory of those I had lost.
How does one define the relationship between a well-to-do woman, well past middle age, and a beggar?
It would take volumes to explain.
Or perhaps just one word will do:
Love.
Manu redefined the word for me and gave it a meaning I had never known before.
It was almost as if he had walked the same path, day after day, through Delhi’s scorching summers and bitter winters, simply to make sure that when I passed by, he would be there.
And when we met, it felt as if we had both finally reached our destination.
It was for Manu that Project Why was born.
He had been born in the same quaint Delhi street where he had spent his life. To most people, he was simply a broken, dishevelled and filthy beggar—a man to be ignored, avoided or driven away.
But I saw something else.
I saw a human being who had been abandoned by almost everyone.
And so, on a day in May 2000, Project Why was set up in the very street where Manu lived. The idea was simple: to care for him and to help the children who lived around him.
I had no roadmap. No instruction manual. No idea where the journey would take me.
I only knew that Manu needed help.
The rest, as they say, is history.
For the next decade, our lives were entwined.
Manu trusted me completely. In return, he taught me lessons I have carried with me ever since.
The most important was that no life is useless.
Had there been no Manu, there might have been no Project Why. And had there been no Project Why, the lives of thousands of children might have been very different.
Manu also taught me never to give up. No matter how dark things seem, there is always a glimmer of light if one is willing to keep walking—even when the road ahead is difficult and unfamiliar.
In my darkest moments, when the urge to throw my hands up was almost overwhelming, seeing Manu smile could lift the clouds. Somehow, the sun would shine again.
Manu was a gentle soul with a wonderfully quirky sense of humour.
We shared countless precious moments—dancing, laughing and eating together. Some of my happiest memories of him are of the simplest things: sitting together, sharing a meal, or laughing at something that only the two of us found funny.
Being with Manu was a blessing. There was an extraordinary feeling of peace and safety in his presence, as though, for those moments, everything in the world was exactly as it should be.
I do not know what saints look like.
But I think Manu may have been one.
A true child of God.
Project Why must continue.
Not simply because it began with Manu, but because every child whose life is touched by the Project carries something of the hope he gave me.
Manu showed me that no life is without value. He taught me that love can cross every boundary society creates between people. And he gave me the courage to begin a journey I could never have imagined.
He remains safe in my heart.
And, in a way, he remains at the heart of Project Why too.
Every January, I think of Manu.
And every day, I continue the journey he began.
.ue to honour is memory.
Manu remains safe in my heart.